


teacher thinks that I sound funny, but she likes the way you sing

by troiing



Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 13:18:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12482484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troiing/pseuds/troiing
Summary: The very first time Pippa sees Hecate, she knows she wants to be her friend.





	teacher thinks that I sound funny, but she likes the way you sing

**Author's Note:**

> Evidently there's a "limit of 100 text blocks" on Tumblr or this would be posted there. No betas because I literally just came out to have a good, casual time. Chapters aren't arranged in any particular way, though the scenes are in chronological order, just... Posting however many scenes I have written when I feel like posting them. Ehheh
> 
> CW for vague suggestion of disordered evening, though to clarify, I do not believe Hecate has an eating disorder, as seems to be common. Though I do believe Hecate eats to survive rather than for the enjoyment of it, I also whole-heartedly believe that, once given the appropriate education re: her own dietary needs, Hecate started taking care of herself just fine.

The very first time Pippa sees Hecate, she knows she wants to be her friend.

At twelve, the Hardbroom girl is a pile of gangly limbs and too-big eyes with a long, soft face, pointed chin, and the tightest French plait known to witching kind falling all the way down to the small of her back, begging curiosity over its length when unconfined to such a tight twist. She is dressed as if she stepped out of a history tome, all in a black cut of fabric that looks like it was stitched at least a century ago.

She avoids the other girls, sequestered away in a corner of the courtyard while they titter away. Pippa thinks this simply won't do, practically skips over to her, delighted to make the tall, dark girl a friend.

“Well met, sister.” She's been practicing, dips an elegant curtsy to the other girl with her palm against her forehead. “I'm Pippa Pentangle; you must be a Hardbroom.”

The tall girl seems startled by the display, bows awkwardly in response. She must have had this growth spurt recently, because she seems out of place even in her own bones. “Well met,” she mutters, looking at everything but Pippa. “Hecate. How did you know who I am?”

“Oh,” Pippa says, shrugging casually. “Your family has a bit of a reputation for being old fashioned. There's nothing wrong with that, but you do sort of stand out,” she adds, gesturing to the slew of colourful young girls, then vaguely at Hecate's conservative ensemble. They are on the cusp of the eighties, new fashion and old dotting the landscape of the school grounds, and Hecate does stand out more than a little among the hodgepodge of gaudy patterns and oversized jewelry.

Hecate is silent for a moment before speaking. “They also say if a Hardbroom witch turns sideways, she might disappear without a vanishing spell.”

“I might have heard that,” Pippa concedes with another careless shrug. “But some people are tall and some people aren't, and some people are skinny and some people aren't. I don't really see why people make such a fuss.” Hecate's gaze flicks to her with an unreadable expression, and Pippa smiles back. “Anyway, you can sit by me for the practical, and at the welcome feast,” Pippa says suddenly, looping her arm with Hecate's.

Hecate can only follow along as Pippa makes her way for the center of the crowd, where the teachers are ushering all the prospective girls forward. “How do you know we'll both make it through?” Hecate asks coolly, absolutely practical.

“Because I do,” Pippa says with a grin. “Come on, you silly snail.”

*****

They tie in the written exam, each losing two points—Pippa in witching history, Hecate by nervously flubbing a potions ingredient, which she mentally kicks herself for before the test is even returned. Pippa beams at her when their scores, and position at the top of the class, are announced.

“You see?” Pippa asks, settling in at Hecate's side with a cauldron and spellbook. “We'd have to score nought percent to fail now.”

“Maybe I will,” Hecate mutters. “I know all the properties of dragonfly wings, but I—”

“Lighten up, Hecate, we all make mistakes,” Pippa says cheerily.

They fall into silence after that. They each wind up choosing a level six spell, and they tie in execution on that too, coming out again at the top of the group.

“We have the rare and delightful dilemma of choosing between two girls to become head of year,” announces the deputy headmistress at the end of the feast later. “As such, the staff have decided—”

“Miss Thornbody, sorry, not to interrupt, but really, I think it should go to Pippa,” Hecate says suddenly, meekly, gazing studiously down at the last dregs of her stew.

“What's the matter?” Pippa asks in a light-hearted undertone beside her, giving Hecate a nudge with her elbow. “Afraid we'll tie again?”

“No, I just. I really don't want to,” Hecate replies in the barest undertone. “That's all.”

It's settled without much ado after that; Pippa is uncertain, but Hecate seems content enough with her lot, with seeing the gold-blazoned emblem of head of year against Pippa's waistcoat rather than her own.

*****

Pippa bursts into Hecate's room without warning, without a knock; it doesn't really occur to her that she might need to make an announcement. She has a savory hand pie nabbed from the kitchens mere minutes ago in one hand, wrapped in a napkin, and her history book in the other. Hecate barely acknowledges her, cross-legged in bed with notes for revisions spread around her, but that's not unusual. Pippa merely closes the distance, drops her own book into the pile, and seats herself on the biggest clear patch of bedding.

“Here. You didn't eat much at supper.”

Hecate is quiet for a moment, brows arched, glancing at the proffered pastry without moving her head. Then: “Everybody always teases; they say—”

“You eat too much? You're growing.”

“I'm always growing, it seems.”

Pippa arches an eyebrow, thrusts the savory pastry in Hecate's direction. “You'll never make the grade if all you can think about is your stomach.”

Hecate hesitates for a moment, but the smell of the still-warm filling only makes her stomach growl, giving her away in a heartbeat. She takes it with the tiniest smile and nod of gratitude, finds herself wolfing down the pie so quickly she barely tastes it, barely remembers to chew. The last bite lodges on its way down, nothing threatening, just uncomfortable, inspiring a loud series of hiccoughs.

“You okay, Hiccup?” Pippa asks, arching a brow at Hecate. But when Hecate nods, she grins wickedly. “I think I'll call you that.”

“You'll do no such thing,” Hecate replies, but the threat of the words is somewhat ruined by their long months of friendship and the fresh hiccup that catches in her throat. Still, she reaches out, making as if to backhand Pippa's arm. Pippa squeals, nearly falls off the bed as she hauls off away from Hecate's reach. “I might call you Pipsqueak if you do.”

“Pipsqueak?” Pippa asks, affecting mock haughtiness. “Just because I'm the smallest in our year—”

“And because you squeak like a mouse when something startles you,” Hecate drawls, rolling her eyes.

Pippa thinks this over, then settles back onto Hecate's bed again with a smirk of her own. “I guess you're right,” she concedes. Then, in a rapid change of tack, she reaches for Hecate's book. “You know, you don't have to spend _all_ your free time revising. We've got time for a little fun, haven't we? And even if not, I've seen how you eat. You can't be satisfied. Let's go sneak down and beg some food off of Cook.”

Hecate frowns, wrinkles her nose. “I don't like—”

“It's not being an inconvenience, or getting in her way.”

“It's asking for special treatment.”

“Well you can't very well go hungry, can you. Either way, I'm going down. Come with me or not, your choice.”

“Now hold on,” Hecate complains when Pippa hops out of the bed and turns for the door. “You brought your book so you could revise!”

“I did. And then I watched you eat a hand pie so fast you almost choked,” Pippa replies pointedly. “Come on, Hecate, it's not as if you're at risk of failing the next test—which isn't for three days, in case you've forgotten.” Hecate doesn't move from her spot, so Pippa sighs, then affects a pout. “ _Please?_ Hiccup?”

Hecate rolls her eyes, but unfolds herself from her position. “Fine. Fine, I'm coming. Just… don't call me that.”

“Don't call you what?” An innocent question, a winning smile. 

Hecate groans. “Lead the way, Pipsqueak.”


End file.
